


Overture, Opera, Orgasm

by Winterwolke



Series: Birthday Presents [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, Body Modification, Consensual Kink, Dom!Harry, Dom/sub, Feminization, M/M, Operas, Public Blow Jobs, Public Sex, Sex Toys, Sub!Draco, Voyeurism, but temporary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 10:27:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25469287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterwolke/pseuds/Winterwolke
Summary: "Draco doesn't know what Harry has planned. They talk about kinks and how to explore them often enough, but never in concrete detail. It's always Harry who makes the scenes come alive and that's how Draco likes it best. He's just not creative enough and it astounds him just how plentiful, mean, and erotic his husband's fantasies can be."A Drarry birthday story.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Birthday Presents [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1856968
Comments: 8
Kudos: 126





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Last year, I spontaneously wrote a story for Harry's birthday, exploring some kinks. This year, I planned a bit more and can proudly present you the first part of this year's fic, much too late for Draco's birthday, but still for him.  
> The story is in the same universe as my other story, A Humble Birthday Present, although it isn't necessarily a sequel. 
> 
> The tags are quite tame for the time being and will be updated next week, when I post the second part on the 31st. This part is equally tame, but don't worry, it will get much kinkier in chapter 2. Just you wait a week ;)
> 
> A special thank you goes out to my beta reader [hmn007](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hmn007), who did a quick and marvelous job and helped me to get some things straight in this part.

Draco doesn't know what Harry has planned. They talk about kinks and how to explore them often enough, but never in concrete detail. It's always Harry who makes the scenes come alive and that's how Draco likes it best. He's just not creative enough and it astounds him just how plentiful, mean, and erotic his husband's fantasies can be. He's a completely different man when he's in 'dom mode' as he calls it, and Draco is helplessly at his mercy.

Diagon Alley is bustling with people, the good weather pulling them out into the open. Draco is glad their Glamours are very strong as Ron and Hermione rush past them, chasing after Rose. He doesn't want anybody to know where they’re going.

The sex shop is on the eastern side of Diagon Alley, where there are fewer customers and more shadows, and he heaves a sigh of relief as soon as they enter. He doesn't come here often, and is strangely shy and intimidated by what he sees.  
The room is dark, only small stripes of led-lights (and that Draco knows and recognises them says a lot) illuminate the small paths, and bright spotlights highlight the displayed goods. 

The centerpiece is a black stand with a thick cushion, and it reminds him of some Muggle sports device he's seen at Teddy's school years ago. The children vaulted over it, helped by something like an elastic spring, but that can't be it, especially not in a place like this. Draco doesn't think of himself as innocent, not even naive, but he's not as comfortable as Harry is in expressing his sexuality and often finds himself at a loss with all the fancy things that can be bought nowadays. 

Seemingly out of thin air, Calliope, the owner, materialises before them. She’s an intimidating person no matter the circumstances, but today it’s especially strong. He barely suppresses the need to avert his eyes and bow his head. He shakes a little in her presence and curses himself for being this weak, this needy. It doesn’t make any sense to cower before her - there are strict rules in the BDSM community and Calliope would never even touch him casually without expressed permission, but he still feels the urge to present himself in front of her. Her presence is that commanding.

In stark contrast, she’s wearing the least aggressive clothes he has ever seen on a person. Her hair falls openly over her shoulders, mousy brown and a little bleak, complimenting her heart-shaped face. Her spaghetti strap dress has a pattern of little cherries and birds, more suited for a teenager than a grown woman, but it suits her. She would look completely out of place in her shop if it wasn’t for the predatory glint in her eyes and her domineering personality.

“It’s lovely of you to finally come to visit me. I’ve been dying to get your opinion on my new plaything,” she says, without greeting Draco and only meaning for Harry to hear. 

It’s hard for Draco to accept that in some circles he’s just seen as an addendum. Nobody is disrespectful or rude, but there are rules that are followed to the “T”. It’s still strange and it doesn’t help that they agreed to all of it in the beginning and adjusted the rules over the years to both their liking.

The Glamour falls from him at the snap of Harry’s fingers, exposing their true identities. At the same time, he hears the lock on the shop door click. They’re alone here, there’s no need to hide anymore.

The silver chain of the leash tinkles softly as Harry attaches it to Draco’s leather collar. A thrill rushes through him at being dragged around like a naughty Crup. Harry knows what public displays do to him, and they often engage in such scenes. He fondly remembers their evening at Hyde Park a few years back. 

Draco follows them to the centrepiece of the shop, that strange stand. Upon closer inspection, the leather looks extremely soft and inviting. It’s the highest quality someone could ask for, but it doesn’t surprise him. Everything in this shop is exquisite and expensive. He graciously kneels beside Harry as Calliope starts to explain.

“It’s a bondage horse, in case you were wondering. This is the compact form, just the body without any extras. The wood is Amboyna Burl, giving you that extra kick. Powerful and energetic, but needs a hard hand. In contrast, the leather is simple cowhide, soft, and easy to maintain. The wood is powerful enough to infuse the cowhide with its properties, so it would be overkill to use magical leather.” 

Her voice is soft as she caresses the plain black surface. Her eyes travel over the horse, before landing on Draco. He lowers his gaze immediately, just in case. He isn’t forbidden to look, but he doesn’t want to risk bad behaviour when they’re out. He sees her smirk out of the corner of his eyes but keeps his head down.

“Harry, darling, do you want to try? Just to get a feel of the possibilities?”

Harry, who has been silent so far, steps forward to run his hands over the horse. Whenever they scene he’s more of a silent type, calm, and measured. He gets into dirty talk enough, but outside of this, he only talks to give precise and simple orders. They’re complete opposites whenever they get kinky. While Harry usually likes to talk, his dominant persona doesn’t. In contrast, Draco can barely keep his mouth shut once they get things going. 

It’s hard to stay silent right now. Because he wants to try the horse, even though he can’t imagine how exactly it would work. But that’s the beauty of it because, in this role, he doesn’t have to imagine. He just has to let himself be led by his Dom. So he waits for Harry to decide and shivers in excitement when, finally, Harry turns and unhooks the leash, a delighted glint in his eyes.

“Draco, up you go,” he says, low and dangerous. It only quickens Draco’s heartbeat, and he nearly stumbles over his own feet, so eager to comply.

Harry helps him straddle the thick cushion. Draco sees that the sides are slightly slanted, reducing the space to sit quite a bit. It’s not obvious on the first look that the sides slope down, but he realises why almost immediately. His centre is settled on a relatively narrow cushion, his weight pushing, his legs pulling him down. It gets uncomfortable rather quickly, although the horse doesn’t look like it. The leather is high quality, soft and warm under his fingers as he subtly tries to brace some of his weight on his arms to relieve his core. The longer he sits, the headier he feels. The magic of the wood slowly seeps into his clothes, igniting a spark. His cock stirs. Draco blushes and hopes nobody is paying any attention to him.

But of course, Harry is. He steps behind Draco, pulling his arms behind his back. The position forces Draco to bear down onto the cushion, grinding his weight more firmly into the horse.  
Harry holds his wrists together with his left hand, while his right begins to caress first his belly, then wanders up to his nipple. Draco wears a tight black t-shirt, something simple, but showing off his slim waist, defined chest and broad shoulders. His nipples both peak through the thin fabric and Harry doesn’t hesitate before he roughly twists one, eliciting a whine that Draco just can’t suppress. He feels himself blush furiously, but his cock is more than interested as it presses against the dark denim of his Muggle jeans.

Somewhere behind him Calliope chuckles and it shouldn’t turn him on so much, but it does. 

Harry’s right hand finally settles on his throat, above the leather collar, and he squeezes lightly, just enough to let Draco know who’s in charge of the situation. He’s practically melting into Harry’s broad chest, wishing they were alone and could explore the situation more. The discomfort from sitting on the horse is overshadowed by the rush of lust in his veins.

“Shall I put the horse on your shopping list then?”

“What do you think, Dragon?” Harry whispers, voice rough, his timbre low with desire. Draco shivers at the pet name.

It takes some time for Draco to come back enough to realise he needs to answer the question. But he isn’t capable of more than nodding frantically, constricting his own airway by pressing his throat against Harry’s firm hand. 

Sometimes he is embarrassed by how much he needs and craves this, how much he loves being at his husband’s mercy. That he gets off on pain and humiliation. He’s a slut for rough sex, for degradation or any form of debasement, and he’s the luckiest bloke alive to have a partner that is equally into those things, eager to explore the depth of perversion.

Draco whines when Harry’s hands let go of his throat and wrists and he’s pulled down from the horse. He pants heavily, the rush of adrenaline slowly receding.

“No escaping into subspace just yet. We’re not done here,” Harry says with a smirk that makes Draco hot and cold and giddy.

“Ah, yes, your birthday present,” Calliope says from further into the shop. She isn’t visible in the dim light, but it does nothing to reduce her dominant presence. Draco feels her even more, reigning over them like a queen. He swallows nervously at the slight tension in the room.

Harry hooks the leash on him again and leads through into the darkness and behind the counter. He brushes something aside, likely a curtain, and suddenly, there is light. They step into a white-tiled, sterile-looking room with a medical chair, not unlike the one Hermione’s parents have at their dentist’s office. It smells clean, but there’s the slight sting of an antiseptic burning in Draco’s nose. He narrowly avoids sneezing as he takes in the different charts and pictures on the wall. Some of them are medical, but some are art shots.

The picture that captures Draco’s attention is dark, almost black. He can barely make out the body part that is pictured, which is, probably, a female breast. What’s more captivating is the small golden hoop that glints in the light. It looks ethereal, like some kind of star with its own corona. The light breaks around the delicate lines, simply executed, but it’s what makes the ring so beautiful.

Draco swallows hard, not sure if he should believe what is happening. He’s wanted his nipples pierced for a long time, has talked about it at length, but somehow there was never the right time for it. And he’s old, forty isn’t just a number anymore. Maybe he’s too old for things like pierced nipples, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting. He can just imagine the delicate pain and shudders when he imagines Harry pulling on them. Thinks of a heavy chain connecting them, or weights that pull them down.

His throat is dry, and his cock is practically ripping through his jeans.

“Draco.”

It’s the first time today that Calliope addresses him directly. He dares to catch her gaze, sees the playful glint in her eyes. Her demeanor is still professional.

“Harry told me he wanted to give you something special for your birthday and told me about your wish to get your nipples pierced. While you both are in a safe, sane, and consensual relationship, this isn’t something we can do without your explicit consent and me explaining what it will entail. Please sit down and let’s talk.”

Draco looks back at Harry, who nods in encouragement and reaches behind Draco to open the collar. There’s a visible shift in both of them. Their scene is halted for the moment because this isn’t something to be decided by Dom and sub.

They join Calliope at a small table that is cluttered with legal forms and various kinds of jewelry.

***

Despite all the magic in the world, it takes about a month for his nipples to heal properly. Draco is impatient, but he knows he can’t rush the process or it might take much longer. His nipples ache in just the right way, and the itch he’s feeling is purely sexual. He wants to test them, wants to play with them. They seem like the best decision he’s made in a long time - which is, of course, the reason that Harry has to go abroad on a mission just in time for the healing to be done.

Their farewell is sweet and steamy, softly murmured words and naughty sex on the kitchen table between the Prophet and strawberry jam. 

Later, in their bedroom, Harry shows him a case with seven unmarked flasks.

“I want you to take this potion while I’m gone. It shouldn’t take longer than a week, so I left you seven doses. There are instructions inside the box. I want you to read them and decide if you are willing to take them. When I’m back I’m going to take you out. That is not dependent on you taking the potions, but it will be more fun if you do.”

Draco nods eagerly. He doesn’t know what will happen, but he knows Harry has some special things planned for them, and taking the potions will surely make it even more special. He will still read the instructions and decide only then what he will do, but he trusts his husband to have chosen something that is worth his time.

He’s fitted with a cock cage and his collar, completely naked while Harry carefully dresses in black trousers, a simple black jumper, and dragonhide boots before he pulls on his crimson Auror robes.

It’s not necessary to lock Draco up while he’s alone, but it gives them both a thrill to know that there is only one key and only at one person’s disposal, and it’s not Draco. Despite a recently shattering orgasm, his cock tries to rise at the pictures that form in his head.

Harry vanishes through the Floo with one last, lingering and sweet kiss, leaving Draco behind with a painful half-erection and barely reigned in impatience for the week to be over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick end notes: I consulted a "How to" for the nipple piercings. While there is no graphic description, there are some things taken from that guide. In the Muggle world, nipple piercings take about 3 to 6 months to heal (can be up to 12), but that wouldn't have worked with the story and we are in the Wizarding world anyway.
> 
> Also, while I have read much and fantasized much, I have never been to a BDSM meeting or something similar. If there is anything clearly wrong with my description of Harry and Calliope and their "neglect" of Draco, please let me know. It does sound like something that can happen, depending on your relationship and your friends, but I can't be sure.
> 
> I will post chapter two on Friday, July 31st.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's already Friday here, which means HAPPY BIRTHDAY HARRY. Hope you like this year's present just as much as last year's.
> 
> Special thanks, again, to hmn007, who did a great, perfect, beautiful job beta reading and gave some valuable input!

Patience is a virtue, one that Harry has perfected over the years. Still, this last half an hour is torturous. 

He hasn’t seen Draco since his departure seven days ago, only a glimpse of blond hair when he Flooed in. Not enough to satisfy his deeply seated desire to just look at his husband and hug the hell out of him. Their relationship is fairly sexual, but it’s those tender, chaste moments that make his life perfect. 

However, a look at the clock on the mantle tells him he’s late and they need to get going if they want to catch their Portkey. The anticipation makes Harry’s stomach flutter as he climbs the stairs to his dressing room, courtesy of Draco’s meticulous renovations of Grimmauld Place. They both have dressing rooms for days like this when they need to keep a secret alive for as long as possible. 

His suit is cleaned and ready, expensive Italian wool, hand-woven with magic-infused threads. There are more special properties, but he’s forgotten them conveniently, although Draco would point out how savage he is to not appreciate the suit in the right way. Harry just likes the colour, a deep black, and the way it feels on his skin like he’s wearing nothing at all.

His shower is quick, his shaving spell clean, and he’s ready to go ten minutes before the Portkey activates. Only Draco isn’t in the parlour or anywhere else, which means he’s still getting ready. He’s a vain man, his husband, but most of the time it’s worthwhile to wait on him. Not more than a minute ticks by when he hears the faint click of heels on wood. 

The first thing he sees grinds his mind to halt, leaving him speechless. It’s a delicate ankle, wrapped in equally delicate black lace. It’s translucent, just hinting on the stocking, much more revealing than covering. Alabaster white skin shimmers through, and Harry unconsciously licks his lips at the sight. Draco wears black high heels with an ankle strap, and they make his feet look so elegant, you wouldn’t know that he’s usually a man with manly feet.

Harry lets his gaze wander upwards. The midnight blue dress falls softly around his legs and accents his narrow hips. They swing sinfully as he walks down the stairs. Small diamonds catch the light, making it look like it’s embroidered with actual stars. When his eyes land on Draco’s chest, Harry’s breath stops for a moment.

He knows that Draco has been taking the potions dutifully, but he could have never imagined the result would look like this. Instead of being flat-chested, his husband now has small breasts. Barely enough to fill half his hand, just the hint of a swell, but they’re there.

It’s one of Harry’s secret kinks finally coming true. He’s never wished for a wife, never had the urge to sleep with a woman once he discovered his taste for blokes, but he’s always fantasised about mixing both. There’s something naughty, something salacious about a man with breasts. It’s making him hot and bothered for reasons he can’t explain. 

And Draco is fulfilling his wish tonight.

Harry knows he’s extremely lucky to have found a kindred spirit in his husband. Not many couples are this happy and content in their relationship, but somehow they manage to click in all the right places.

The dress is low-cut and accents all the right places, framed by straps that seem to be held up by magic. All he wants to pull them down to get his hands and lips on the secret underneath.

Draco’s still wearing the black leather collar which is clearly out of place, but Hermione, of all people, helped him choose an appropriate neckband, although she’s asked a million questions why Harry would buy something designed for a woman. After tonight, he and Draco need to buy a dress that matches the neckband, so they can give it to her for Christmas.

After another speechless minute and a soft cough from his husband, Harry finally gets his bearings.

“You look gorgeous, Dragon.” They kiss softly, not much more than a small peck.

“Is it like you imagined?” Draco asks, shyly looking down. The heels make him taller than Harry, but his posture is already submissive and he appears smaller, more elegant.

“I couldn’t have wished for a better present,” Harry says and means every word. “Although there’s something not quite right, don’t you agree? You can’t go with a collar. It doesn’t match the dress at all.”

He turns to the mantle, where he’s put the long, thin box with the neckband not moments ago. It was his only stop between getting back from his mission and coming home. 

Draco lights up immediately. Although he isn’t fixated on material things, not like he was when they were in school, he likes getting things, especially when Harry chooses them for him. He steps up to the mantle, only to sink into a perfect curtsy, immaculate, and still and waiting.

Harry swallows when he takes in the picture. Draco’s lips are on the same level as his crotch, and Harry’s dick perks with interest at the picture. His blond hair, usually straight, is wavy and pulled into a messy ponytail, a few bangs framing his face. It invites Harry to run his hands through it, grabbing it, and force Draco to just take it when he fucks his mouth. He barely suppresses a moan at the idea, but he can’t start the festivities before they have officially begun. Regretfully. It’s tempting to just call it all off and just stay at home in their dungeon.

But he’s planned this evening almost a year in advance, found the perfect setting for tonight. 

With a snap of his fingers, the collar springs open. Harry carefully takes it off and sets it on the mantle. He sees the faint red lines it’s imprinted on milky white skin. He runs his hands over them, feels Draco shudder, and feels a surge of fierce pride he can’t really explain. Despite his grief about his age, Harry often thinks he must be the luckiest bloke in the world whenever he comes home to his precious husband.

The neckband fits like a second skin. It’s the same midnight blue collar with little diamonds. When he’s done, he lifts Draco up and steps back to take it all in once more.

Everything is perfect, and Harry might choke a little on the heavy emotions he feels at this moment. He’s never loved someone as much as Draco. The words sound hollow when he gets them out, never enough to really express what he feels.

“I love you so much. Let’s go!”

***

The night is quite warm in Sydney, considering the season. They have a quiet dinner on a private yacht while cruising the harbour. The lights are more vivid, brighter than London, and while Harry does enjoy this overture to their evening, he can’t help feeling excited. There is a spark around them that has nothing to do with real magic or the slight buzz from the excellent wine.

Draco’s eyes glow with elation. Harry would like to ravish him right here at their table, but it’s not the time yet. Soon, though. He smiles when Captain Sullivan signals him that they’re about to dock in a few minutes. Time to get this show on the road.

“You know, I’ve had a lovely time so far. We both deserved an evening away from England. But I’m sure you’re asking yourself why we’ve been this tame so far. It isn’t our style, I know, but I wanted to try something different. And since you always tell me that I don’t take you out enough, and ‘we never do anything cultural’,“ Harry raises his hands to make exaggerated quotation marks, teasing good-naturedly, “I thought we could go to the opera.”

It’s timed perfectly as the yacht softly bumps against the pier.

The Opera House is a sight to behold, but Harry only has eyes for his husband. Draco looks at it with reverence, his face illuminated by bright blue lights. There are pictures projected on the usually white walls tonight, but neither pays any attention to what they are. 

He leads them to a private entrance, guarded by a single wizard. It’s refreshing to be in a country where nobody knows him or Draco, so instead of gushing nonsense, the bloke only compliments him on his stunning wife.

He sees Draco blush as they step into the building, probably embarrassed by the mistake, but Harry doesn’t blame the bloke. Draco looks ethereal in the dress, his body and features just feminine enough that he could be confused for a woman. His long hair just plays into the illusion.

They slowly walk the halls, and Harry notices with satisfaction that most people openly stare at them, some stopping what they’re doing to get a better look. He knows they’re a stunning couple, but it’s the mystery his husband’s shrouded in that makes them forget their manners. After a quick stop for some champagne, they arrive at their private box. 

It took an obscene amount of money to secure the box only for them (they’re usually shared), but the money’s worth it as they sit down in the first row with a perfect view of the stage. The lights are already out and it doesn’t take long for the orchestra to assemble.

Granted, Harry really is the philistine Draco always accused him of, so he has no idea what opera they’re hearing, nor does he care, since it’s almost time for the part that he gets to enjoy his present. He barely pays attention as a bloke, dressed in feathers, begins to sing. The words are foreign, hard but melodic, and Harry thinks he’s heard that language before, but it’s just an afterthought.

“Draco,” he finally says, his voice different than before, lower and more commanding. It gets Draco’s attention every time, and Harry delights in the way his husband suddenly sits straighter in anticipation.

“You’re still wearing your cock cage, are you?” 

The question seems to come out of nowhere, as Draco turns to look at him for a second before he remembers their rules and lowers his gaze. It doesn’t go unnoticed, though.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good, I want you to show me,” Harry demands, a little cold, but only to suppress his own excitement. He has strict rules, not only for his sub, but for himself. Never showing his cards until the end is one of them, and he revels in the desperation Draco sometimes shows because it’s hard to get a reaction out of Harry.

“H-here?” he asks, as if there’s any question about it. Another mark for tonight’s tally.

“Well, I don’t see why not. We’re alone, it’s dark, and I clearly gave you an order, although I can surely repeat it if that’s what you want. Although I don’t think you’ll like it if I have to ask twice.”

Draco flinches, part of it in fear what Harry’s about to do to him if he disobeys. Their scenes are hard sometimes, bordering on extreme, but it’s how they both like it. And they both have safe words in case something goes wrong or they both underestimate the power of their fantasies. It happens occasionally, but it’s a permanent process of learning each other’s boundaries.

Tonight isn’t about extreme pain, but Draco doesn’t know that. Harry knows he loves this kind of insecurity; it gives him a thrill.

Eventually, Draco pulls the dress up until his panties are revealed. Harry smirks - they’re the exact same colour as the dress with little rhinestones. His husband, the fashion queen.

“Panties, really? You won’t need them tonight, so take them off. I want to see what’s mine at any given time.”

Draco tries to wriggle out of them without much success, although not for lack of trying. The dress interferes with his jerky movements.

“Maybe you should get up and let me help you,” Harry says, but it’s not a suggestion. 

Draco gets up and steps between Harry’s legs. He’s blushing again, and Harry has seen him looking at the auditorium. While it’s highly unlikely that anybody sees them, it is possible though. However, with his back to the open space, there won’t be much to observe. Not yet anyway.

He pulls the dress up, bunching it against his hips, exposing himself. The panties bulge around his cock. It’s the cock cage, but Harry is sure it’s quite uncomfortable by now, suppressing an impressive hard-on. He pulls the panties down, slowly, inch by inch, stopping when the cage is visible. The way Draco’s member presses against the confines looks painful, but he’s getting off on it too, he can tell. 

Harry teasingly touches along the sturdy leather rings, relishing in the way they are tight on hot flesh. The slit is weeping the first small drops of precome, and he leans forward to lick them up. From this close, he can smell the arousal, a natural musk that has his mouth salivating and his own erection at attention.

Draco whines pathetically at the stimulation, but he keeps still like he’s supposed to. Harry has his Dragon tamed very well.  
Finally, he allows the cage to open, and vanish, with a snap of his fingers. Immediately, there’s another spurt of precome and Draco swells to fullness. It’s impressive how fast he manages it, although Harry hasn’t expected anything less. Together, they manage to pull the panties down and Harry stows them in his pocket. He allows Draco to sit down again.

The scenery on the stage has changed. The mountains and trees have vanished, instead, there is a rich bed chamber and a woman sings. It sounds imposing, powerful, but it’s certainly not Harry’s kind of music. He just waits to let the anticipation build and spends his time stealing glances at Draco.

His husband is still sitting straight, almost unnaturally even for him, like he’s waiting to be called every second now. The dress is tight enough to give a hint of what’s hiding underneath, and Harry knows exactly who’s going to fetch them another round of champagne.

As soon as the lady has finished, Harry leans over and whispers: “I want you to get on your knees right now and blow me nice and slow.”

This time Draco doesn’t hesitate at all, practically flying from his seat to kneel between Harry’s legs. Sure hands open his fly and it’s so good to be finally free of the confines of the trousers. Harry leans back in his seat. There are mountains on the stage again and the feather bloke is back, but it’s all just background noise to him.

Draco is the Master of Blowjobs, courtesy of years and years of training. He remembers fondly that wild week some decades ago when they both trained how to deep-throat. Ever since, his husband’s mouth is like a black hole, sucking everything in with vigour. It’s an art form, really.

The way Draco first kisses up and down the length, feathery soft, a teasing whisper of what’s to come. He knows the exact time he can spend on kissing before Harry becomes impatient, so he switches to kitten-licks that drive him even more crazy. And he’s fast about it. One second he laps blissfully at the precome on Harry’s tip, the next he mouths at his balls. It tickles a bit but the sensation oddly mixes with the surge of lust that runs through Harry’s veins.

He buries his hands in Draco’s hair, not demanding but there, and a definite reminder to not play too long but get to business. Blowjobs are always spectacular to watch, but today is special. From this angle, Harry has the best view of his birthday present. The small breasts look ripe and swollen framed by the dress. They jiggle enticingly with every movement. It sets him on edge more than it should, but that’s exactly the fantasy he’s envisioned for years.

Fucking finally Draco takes him into his mouth, immediately starting the suction. It startles Harry into a deep moan, and he gets a cheeky look for his uncharacteristic sound. Which Draco is going to pay for later. For now, Harry lets him get away with it, too caught in the sensation of a skilled tongue lavishing his shaft. His glans is sensitive on the underside and it positively drives him mad when Draco uses the barest hint of teeth to tease him further. Tension is building deep inside his gut and it’s going to be a devastating orgasm once he finally reaches that peak.

His hands grab Draco’s hair harder, almost yanking him forward on his cock, finally breaching that skilled throat. From then on it’s an artless face fuck, but Harry doesn’t care and only wants to reach completion.  
Wet noises drown out the singing on the stage, not that Harry would have paid any attention, but there’s something so wicked about receiving a blowjob while being in a fancy setting like an Opera House, it’s the actual reason he shoots his load without warning and almost unwillingly.

Draco is a pro, though, so he’s swallowing everything without complaint and stays put when he’s done lapping it all up. His cheeks are rosy, and Harry can imagine how wet he’ll be underneath the dress. There’s no danger that Draco’s going to come without permission, and it needs to be given explicitly, which seldom happens.

Harry’s enjoying the warm, wet feeling around his soft cock. He would love to spend the bigger part of his life with Draco’s mouth wrapped around him, but he doesn’t get to indulge in this very often. Below them, there seems to be some kind of finale going on. There are many people on the stage and most of them sing something or other, so it’s an educated guess that there’s going to be a break soon.

“Put me back in and then come sit with me,” Harry says, a bit kinder but not less demanding than before. Draco lets him go, giving his dick a cursory inspection for residual come, then puts him back inside his pants and trousers. He’s a bit shaky from kneeling too long, so Harry pulls him into his lap, for once nothing sexual on his mind.

They sit quietly, listening to the end of the final act, content in each other’s company.

***

The hallway to the small bar is crowded with wizards and witches from seemingly all kinds of nations. There are two Indian women, dressed in colourful saris, talking to two women wearing hijabs. There’s a group of men in scarlet robes, not unlike his Auror uniform, but the robes are only half-long and are combined with golden bloomers. Every one of them is wearing a decorative sword and broad peacock feathers. There are people who are dressed formally in suits and dresses.

They all turn their head as Harry appears with Draco by his side. Draco’s hair is a bit messier than before, but his flushed cheeks and rapidly heaving chest deflect from this small imperfection. It helps that standing up and walking clearly shows his raging hard-on. Some men and women smirk knowingly at them, but there are people reacting quite oppositely, turning in disgust and murmuring behind their backs.

Harry doesn’t care. He leads them to a secluded corner with a small table near the bar and sits down. When Draco tries to sit next to him, he shakes his head.

“Draco, be a dear and get us some drinks. Something light, we want to keep a clear head for the second act.” It’s a promise and they both know it.

His dragon doesn’t look happy when he turns and moves over to the bar, but Harry couldn’t care less. He likes to watch the enticing swing of his hips, the round arse that’s barely concealed by the tight fit of the dress. Likes to watch Draco squirm as the bartender pins him with a knowing look like he knows all their secrets, especially the one Draco’s barely able to hide.

When he comes back with two glasses of champagne, his face is aflame with embarrassment, but his breathing is heavier. He’s an exhibitionistic slut, just like Harry likes to show him around for people to see. They don’t indulge in this kind of scene often, so it’s even more exciting.

The glasses are already forgotten when he pulls Draco down onto his lap. Harry leans forward, burying his face in his neck, inhaling the unique scent that is his husband’s. There’s an erratic thrum under his lips, and he can’t help biting down, enough to make Draco hiss, but not enough to break skin or leave a mark. A fact he rectifies a few seconds later as he begins to suck at the alabaster white skin, leaving a trail of love bites like a second collar. Draco moans softly, his hand fists in Harry’s suit jacket like it’s the only connection to reality he has. He’s not in subspace yet, and maybe he won’t get there today, but Harry’s going to do his best to fuck his brains out when the time comes.

For now, they’re making out like teenagers, kissing and biting at each other, small pecks and entangled tongues. People are milling around, talking, and laughing, but Harry only registers the soft lips that willingly part for him, for soft moans and whimpers, a hand in his hair.

It all grinds to a halt when he finally, finally, puts his hand on Draco’s chest. Both their breaths stop for a second. It feels different than usual, obviously, but Harry would have never imagined how so. It’s a soft mound, barely enough to fit his palm, but warm and soft and perfect. He wants to pull the dress down right this second and take one of them into his mouth, but he has to be tame as long as they’re in the open like this.

He settles for touching them through the dress, amazed by everything he feels. He’s circling in on a nipple, erect but oddly shaped when he remembers Draco’s birthday present. His piercings are healed now and it’s also the first time they’re able to play with them. It gives him a few ideas for when the opera picks up again. For now, he settles on some heavy petting above the clothes that has Draco squirming under his hands.

“Tell me, love, how wet are you? Shall I see for myself? See what a slut you are? Would it bother you that people can watch everything we’re doing? Knowing you, it turns you on even more. I bet you’re desperate to come, aren’t you? What would you do so I’d let you come right here, where everyone can see it? You want to, don’t you?” He’s rambling a bit, but his husband doesn’t seem to care.

Draco does turn his head away, trying to hide his burning face, but Harry doesn’t let him. He lets go of one tit and forces him to face the masses. There’s one man who watches them with hawk’s eyes. He licks his lips when he notices their attention and raises his drink in a silent thanks for the show. Draco chokes on the gesture, his squirming intensifies.

“Settle down!” Harry demands, relishing in his sub when he goes still immediately. 

He checks if the man is still watching, then turns Draco’s whole body so they face him completely, before putting both his hands back on the breasts. He feels perky nipples under his palms and rubs them softly in a few circles before he pinches them both between his thumb and index finger. He and the man exchange silent words while Draco throws his head back onto Harry’s shoulder, the sensation too much for him to stay still any longer.

Harry lets his left hand wander down to Draco’s cock, tenting the dress obscenely. It’s hot and damp under his palm, the dress likely ruined, but Draco presses into his touch immediately and despite their audience.

“Please, Sir,” he whimpers, not that Harry could be convinced by that - and they both know it. They’re just the most coherent words he’s capable of right now. Harry strokes him torturously slow, never enough to satisfy.

“You want to come, Dragon? You want to show these people what a slut you are? Maybe I should strip you and fuck you on that table, invite other people to use your mouth so your screams won’t be too loud?”

Draco shakes his head, then nods, then shakes it again. There’s a strangled “Please!”, then incoherent mumbling, just like Harry expected.  
They sit for a few minutes, although Draco is seemingly dancing on Harry’s lap, pushing his cock into Harry’s loose fist and grinding his arse back into his very pronounced erection. 

They’re both riding the fence of excitement and frustration, and it’s probably the best feeling in the world. It’s a pity when the bell finally announces that the second act is soon to begin. With a sigh Harry pushes Draco back to his feet, hands ready to steady him. He’s wobbly on his feet, the situation not helped by the unfamiliar heels. 

When they arrive in their box, they’re still breathless. Harry doesn’t give them time to take a breather, loses his suit jacket and pulls Draco down on his lap again, this time pushing the dress aside so he can touch without fabric in the way. 

Draco’s cock is red and wet and swollen. It looks good enough to eat, but this is about Harry, not his lusty dragon. He can finally fulfill his wish, though, and he doesn’t waste time and pushes both straps down Draco’s shoulder. They fall away easily and the dress slips down to his hips. 

Finally, Harry is allowed to see his birthday present. Without the dress, they seem bigger, but they’re still not much. Draco’s nipples are standing up, golden hoops glittering in the faint light. He pushes his chest up enticingly, and Harry doesn’t need more invitation.

They both moan obscenely when his mouth closes over a sensitive nipple. It’s hard and gets even harder as he sucks fervently, eliciting groans and whimpers that are music to his ears. His tongue plays with the ring, pulling at it teasingly, and he feels the burst of precome through his dress shirt.  
Draco’s positively wild with lust, throwing his head around, his ponytail only held by willpower. Blond hair flows messily around his shoulders. In the hollow of his throat is a small pool of sweat.

It’s hard to let go of that delicious nipple, but just like the opera they’re nearing their grand finale, and there are still some things Harry wants to do.

He grabs for the soft mounds, still a little foreign in his hands, and wiggles them around, pushing them together and letting go. They jiggle softly, not much to jiggle anyway, but it’s enough that Draco tries to shy away, embarrassment clearly written on his face. Harry gives him a warning slap on his arse just to remind him who’s birthday this is. It’s like a chain reaction to both of them.

Instead of soft touches, Harry slaps both tits, soft at first, but quickly warming to the task. It’s too dark to see properly, but he still sees the skin redden. Draco’s breath hitches, not prepared for a different sensation, but he’s practically melting when his masochistic side wins. He’s a slut for pain, soaking up even the little things Harry gives him, always eager for more. There’s not much to do in this setting, but he can up his game just a little more.

When he pulls forcefully on one of the hoops, Draco nearly shoots off his lap. His moan is hastily silenced by Harry’s hand. With the right stimulation, Draco could be so loud, even the passionate aria that is sung below wouldn’t be enough to drown out his pleasure. On a whim, Harry produces the panties from his pocket and wedges them between Draco’s lips. At least he can use both hands again.

His husband is frantically grabbing for something to hold onto when Harry uses both hands to pull on the piercings. They’re magically reinforced and can’t damage the nipple in any way, but they still hurt - and obviously in just the right way. Precome is gushing from Draco’s slit, fat drops that look and smell delicious. His lips are moving without rest, probably begging, if he’s still present enough to form words.

Harry gives the tits a few more slaps, then presses his mouth against them. The skin feels hot against his lips, and he can’t help himself and decorates them with another chain if hickeys. Tomorrow, Draco will look even more like a slut, soft bruises, and dark marks everywhere.

There’s a rush on the stage, and it interrupts Harry enough that he becomes aware of his own pressing problem. Between his very fitting trousers and a wiggling husband, he barely gets his fly open. He’s just as wet as Draco.

He murmurs a preparation spell and slicks his fingers with precome, then roughly prods at Draco’s hole just to check that everything is fine. They don’t use much prep, both enjoying the slight pain that comes from plunging right in, but that doesn’t mean they don’t use any lube or prep at all.

Harry manhandles Draco into standing, then presses him against the banister, lifting one leg. 

For all the foreplay they’ve enjoyed this evening, the initial penetration is rushed and artless. Harry uses short but brutal stabs to fuck Draco open enough, then plunges in, burying himself to the hilt. Even the panties aren’t enough to muffle Draco’s scream. Sharp fingernails bite into Harry’s shoulder and both legs wrap around his hips, gravity allowing Draco to sink even further on his cock. The first thrust sends the hair tie flying into the audience, never to be seen again.

It’s more of a frantic rutting for a while, just the tight drag of Draco’s channel against Harry’s overheated cock, animalistic and simple, yet satisfying. Draco’s breasts bounce around enticingly, and when Harry leans down to get one of them into his mouth, he sees something familiar in the corner of his eyes. He lifts his head, searching - and sure enough, the man from before has his eyes on them again. Suddenly it’s perfect.

“Dragon,” Harry says and has to try a few times to get Draco’s attention. He stops his thrusts when it’s obvious that Draco is too far gone.  
“Dragon, you remember our audience from the bar? That bloke that couldn’t get enough of you? You liked how he watched our every move, didn’t you?”

Finally Draco nods. He looks dazed, but there’s a glimmer in his eyes. Anticipation. Excitement.

“I’m gonna turn you around, and you’re gonna hold onto the banister and look at the box over there.”

It’s a sentiment to the situation that Draco doesn’t try to refuse, not that he could talk back even if he wanted to.

When he’s in position Harry spreads his arse cheeks. His hole is hot and swollen, and despite his willingness to tease him even more, Harry can’t wait any longer. Draco’s still tight, but smooth enough to glide back in. He shudders when Harry hits his prostate, so he does it again. They fuck for a minute or two before Harry comes up with an idea.

“Draco, I want you to fuck yourself on my cock. Make it hard and move your hips.”

Draco complies without a hitch, taking over the movements. He uses his arms for leverage and pulls away before snapping his hips hard and going back down, taking Harry in as far as he can. He stays there for a second, clearly enjoying the fullness before he picks up again.

Meanwhile, Harry has both hands free to create an even better show for their lone audience. He wrenches Draco’s head up, hand buried deep into blond locks, and forces Draco to really look at the man. He pauses visibly, but it’s to be expected.

“No stopping now, slut. Give this man what he wants to see!”

To emphasise his words, Harry pulls at the nipple piercing again, pulling the tit as long as it goes before letting it snap back. It earns him another shudder and an audible moan. Harry pulls the panties out of Draco’s mouth, now completely ruined, and he doesn’t care who hears them. There’s another Portkey ready to take them home as soon as the opera ends. 

As soon as he can, Draco begins to babble, “Please” and “Yes” and “No” and “Harry”. He’s too far gone to remember the rules, a fact that Harry lets slide for now. He’s riding the edge hard and feels the unstoppable force of his orgasm crash through his body, setting his veins on fire. He’s meeting Draco now at every thrust, making everything harder and more intense.  
Through the rush of blood in his ears, he hears faint music, a crescendo of sound and light that explodes the same time as he empties himself into Draco.

Draco cries out, high pitched and wrecked, before he comes, too. 

There’s silence afterward, except for their heavy breathing. Harry has barely time to open his eyes, when the clapping starts, just a trickle at first before it’s evolving into standing ovations. He’s confused for a second before he realises they managed to finish in time with the opera, and people are cheering on the orchestra and singers. 

Everyone - except for the man in the other box. Harry’s sure he’s only clapping for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all of you who like to know the WHY?!:
> 
> Sydney: I googled who is the most sexually open and it's either Australia or Iceland. Since I thought Iceland is too cold in July (now that I think of, it's winter in Sydney, so that's not really the point) I decided on Australia and Sydney. Which brought up the problem that everything happens inside an opera house and of course the Sydney Opera House doesn't even have privat boxes. So we have to chalk it up to artistic license.
> 
> The Opera: For those who didn't get the "hints": It's Die Zauberflöte (The Magic Flute) by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, probably one of the most known operas, I think. I have seen it like, 15 years ago in music class, so I mostly followed the Wikipedia entry for any information.
> 
> Another special thanks goes out to the husband (for the regulars: yes, we finally did it), who did his duty and played living puppet whenever I needed to check certain positions, hands and stuff. We both don't have any experience with very small breasts, so hopefully it's not too unrealistic.
> 
> As always, if you find any horrendous mistakes, please let me know. I will correct those mistakes I see after a few days and a little distance, but hmn007 and me hopefully managed to erase them all beforehand.
> 
> Aaaand if you like to see the [dress](https://i.pinimg.com/236x/81/3b/fc/813bfc7c82e125be50b0064e4b826f64--mermaids-beautiful-dresses.jpg)


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